


Nobody Said Anything About Tentacles

by WriteItOtt



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub is So Done (Good Omens), Crack Fic, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, I curse like a sailor, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Me Too Beelz, Mild Sexual Content, No Tentacle Sex, Revenge Of The Squid, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), weekly prompt, who let me write this?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23004781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteItOtt/pseuds/WriteItOtt
Summary: After the Not-pocalypse, the Ineffable Idiots have firmly established themselves as being on Earth's side and have proposed a New Arrangement between themselves, Heaven, and Hell after being asked for help by their old bosses. Crowley is off on a job but, unfortunately for him.... well, you read the title.***No, there is nothing to do with tentacle sex or anything of the kind in this story. It's just a play on words, I swear.***
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 74
Collections: Week 3: Squid Fight





	Nobody Said Anything About Tentacles

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read my contribution to this week's prompt! I really had a lot of fun with this one and I hope y'all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! See the end for more notes about the story :)

At six o’clock on the nose Aziraphale flipped the open sign on the bookshop door smartly to closed and sighed contentedly. Crowley was off doing G- Somebody only knew what, and so the former Angel was very much looking forward to a quiet evening sipping cocoa in his favorite chair with a good book. Ooh, or perhaps he would get started restoring that lovely book of poetry Anathema had brought him the other day! It did have such a stunning leather cover that really just needed some TLC as it were, and the spine was intact so he really should just be able to - _DING!_

The angel’s rambling train of thought was abruptly cut off by the jarring demand of the smartphone on his desk; Crowley’s doing, of course. He had finally managed to convince Aziraphale of its usefulness (with a clever combination of indecent selfies and the cut-throat world of book auctions) but still. The bloody thing could be rather rude at times, particularly when one was having nice thoughts of restoring leather-bound poetry books and drinking cocoa when it interrupted. He sighed and smiled when he read the message despite himself, seeing it was from the demon in question. The selfie showed Crowley in the mirror and dressed for a gala or party, Aziraphale guessed, judging by the bespoke black tuxedo and coordinated cream-colored bow-tie and pocket square.

[ _j_ _ust for you, Angel_ ;) ] 

[ _You look absolutely stunning, my dear. I told you cream would suit you._ ]

[ _y_ _eah well still think I look better in a proper tie. feel like I’m gift-wrapped_ ]

[ _And here I presumed you were. Pity._ ]

[ _c_ _heeky bastard_ ]

It had been nearly ten months since they had averted the Apocalypse and their respective former head offices had rather quickly come to realize just how much they had relied upon Aziraphale and Crowley for certain missions on Earth, and had come grovelling back, as Crowley had so eloquently put it. Whether Heaven or Hell had sanctioned, been watching them, or otherwise, Aziraphale and Crowley had been using their powers for whatever they had seen fit for during that interim and had absolutely no intention of changing that now that said Heaven and Hell wanted them back on their own payrolls. Crowley had been ready to throw Beelzebub and Gabriel out of the bookshop immediately upon hearing their suggestion, however, Aziraphale - ever the thinker - had had a better idea.

He had explained that, clearly since the Almighty had allowed Aziraphale and Crowley to avert the Apocalypse and establish themselves as emissaries of Earth in the first place, it was in accordance with Her plan and really who were they to go against that? So the Earthly angel had made a counter-offer to his former superior and Crowley’s. Aziraphale and Crowley would continue spreading both love and chaos as they saw fit on Earth, however, Heaven and Hell could seek their assistance on missions but they were by no means obligated to accept the jobs presented to them and they would be paid handsomely for their consulting work. Being unable to argue with Aziraphale’s ironclad logic both Heaven and Hell had agreed to the terms of the New Arrangement and thus we come to how Aziraphale found himself alone in his bookshop, lusting over a selfie of his partner in a tuxedo while on a mission from Hell somewhere across London.

Back across London, Crowley strutted through the hotel like a marionette with no control over its hips - so, really rather sedately for Crowley. People stared and looked him over, of course, but that was nothing new. The new tux was the height of fashion and fit him like it was painted on (which, it sort of was, being miracled up and all…) and had taken him several adjustments to get just right. And besides, he had his Angel at home waiting and he was already gift-wrapped for him. The demon smirked, thinking of the text message from Aziraphale, his hand drifting toward his breast pocket to pat his phone without thinking. The sooner he got this job over with, the sooner his Angel would get to unwrap his gift, and if there was one thing Crowley hated, it was making his Angel wait. Well, outside of their bedroom anyway...

The demon strolled up to the perpetually illegally-parked Bentley, tipping his non-existent hat to the policeman studiously writing out a ticket as he slid into the posh leather interior. Taking a page from Aziraphale’s metaphorical book, Crowley snapped as he peeled off into traffic, delighting in the undignified yelp of the policeman when his ticket book exploded into sparks behind him. Despite all the perks of his new-found freedom, especially the chance to explore his love with Aziraphale at last, Crowley had missed this part of working for Hell. The big jobs, that is. The ones that required finesse and style and a certain _je ne sais quoi_ , and undoubtedly Anthony J. Crowley possessed all three, pun very much intended.

The demon slipped the Bentley into the valet line outside the aquarium and handed the keys to the young gent who opened his door for him with the kind of smile one often saw in boardrooms during hostile takeovers or during feeding time at the shark exhibit. Aziraphale would have been very proud of him, Crowley thought a bit smugly as he headed toward the security line; he only hissed slightly at the human and let his golden eyes peek ever-so-slightly over his glasses to scare him into being careful with the Bentley. With a few minor miracles and some expertly-forged (did miracled documents count as forgeries?) papers, Crowley found himself at the London Aquarium Annual Fundraising Gala.

His instructions had been vague, so he figured there was no harm in playing the tourist for a bit until Lord What’s-his-Face and his cheating wife arrived. Beelzebub had simply said make a fool of the Lord by exposing his wife so he would be tempted into taking bribes to keep it out of the papers and this-that-the-other, souls for our Lord Satan, yadda yadda… He’d heard the spiel before. Hell - Hea - Oh, for _Somebody’_ s sake, he probably knew it by heart at this point, he mused, idly watching a Sea Horse bobbing along behind the glass as he sipped champagne. Slipping his phone out of his tux Crowley shook the distracting thoughts of his work out of his head and instead distracted himself with taking pictures for Aziraphale.

Wandering through the blue-lit watery hallways was almost magical, and that was saying something considering Crowley could do right proper magic himself. He decided pictures wouldn’t suffice and he would need to bring his Angel here in person to see the beauty; he knew Aziraphale would love it. The colors, the graceful swaying of the kelp, the fish and other creatures swirling about… even Crowley couldn’t keep up his flash bastard facade to deny the peaceful living canvas of the aquarium. The serene backdrop would make the perfect place for a date, the demon decided.

As he wandered deeper into the building it seemed far fewer people were willing to leave the gala itself to see the creatures they were supposedly raising funds to help house and feed. Not that running into fewer people wasn’t a bad thing in Crowley’s book; it just seemed a shame for more people not to see the stunning creatures swimming and drifting lazily through their tanks. Speaking of drifting lazily… Crowley peered into a large tank that housed what looked like the bastard child of an albino tarantula and a jellyfish someone had accidentally dropped in a taffy-pulling machine.

“What the bloody fuck **are** you?” he muttered aloud, thinking it was just him and the tentacle-fish. Raising his phone to take a video of the weird-looking thing, he cursed as the flash came on automatically and momentarily lit up the area while he fumbled to turn it off again.

“Fuck! Shit, get off - they’ll see!” came a frantic young man’s voice, rough with lust and strained with effort. “I **told** you those bloody paparazzi would find you!”

Crowley’s camera snapped and he couldn’t help but look at the picture it had taken. Shockingly, considering he had indeed been fucking off and ignoring his job, Lord Farthington’s cheating wife was just behind the tentacle fish’s tank, also seemingly fucking off with one of the gala’s waitstaff. “Oh. Uh… Well, that’s convenient,” the lanky ginger shrugged, still processing just how lucky he had been. Someday he really would have to stop and consider the implications of why he had such _good_ luck but luckily today was decidedly **not** that day.

“Convenient?! How dare you!” Now it was the woman’s turn to get involved, he supposed. Or involved with him anyway. Ew, not like that. Now that she had moved, it was quite clear she was perched on the waiter’s lap with her dress hiked up and his pants on the floor, so clearly she was already pretty involved in that regard.

“Lady, I’m not the one fucking the waitstaff in the middle of a giant fish tank with hundreds of other people wandering around, so I’d say you’re not really the one who gets to be offended here,” Crowley replied archly, one perfect ginger brow cocked with sass over his fanciest pair of dark glasses. He swore the sputtered incredulous gasp from her and the stifled snort of laughter from the waiter was worth whatever trouble this ludicrous situation was about to bring him. “Now, I’d also be willing to bet that the gigantic diamond on your left hand isn’t just for show and that your Lord husband would be rather interested in seeing this picture, or at the very least keeping it out of the press to save face so I think I’ll just wander round the party and pay him a visit…” Crowley smirked, the light of his phone screen showing the mischievous tilt of his lips as he did so.

Unfortunately for Crowley but fortunately for Lady Farthington, at least in the short term, several things happened all at once. First, Crowley’s progress back toward the party was halted by the sudden appearance of a slimy-wet tentacle wrapped firmly around the hand holding his illuminated phone. Second, Crowley screamed. Not the shrieking, terror-inducing howls of a demon; no, this was much more like the terrified yelping of someone who had been unexpectedly touched by something unpleasant while walking through a haunted house. Third, an alarm began sounding on the tank as the creature housed within it began hauling itself further out of the water now that it had leverage via Crowley’s now-flailing wrist. Fourth, both Lady Farthington and Gerald the waiter began screaming as the squid shot perfectly-aimed jets of water at both of them and hit them both square in the face. Finally, Crowley, having had Quite Enough of whatever this hell-spawned creature was, gave a truly Herculean fling and flung the squid clear across the room - where it promptly landed on Lady Farthington’s middle, wound around her, pulled back, and shot ink damn near everywhere it could possibly reach.

The unmistakable sounds of booted feet and the crackle-hisses of walkie-talkies heralded the imminent arrival of back-up (whether for the squid or for the humans, Crowley didn’t know), and with a rather slick snap of his fingers the demon got the fuck out of dodge. Beelzebub could decide later if he had managed to cause enough chaos to embarrass Lord and Lady Fuck-Right-Outta-Here, but he’d eat the goddamn Bentley if they decided he hadn’t.

* * *

Aziraphale smelled the tell-tale whiff of Crowley’s power a moment before he heard the demon’s customary sigh of relief at being home and couldn’t contain the smile that crept over his face at the realization. A moment later he realized there was another rather strong smell overpowering Crowley’s usual cologne and the pomade that Aziraphale was certain had slicked back his demon’s hair in the picture from earlier…. The smell was somewhat familiar, he thought. Food-related, perhaps? Oh, that’s what it was!

“Did you bring take-away from that lovely Thai place, darling? Squid ink ramen, perhaps?” the angel called from the back room. He clicked the radio dial off and shook his head in disbelief at the news story the device crackled out as he stood up, stretching before heading out into the atrium to greet his demon. “Speaking of squid… did you know? Someone tried to fight one at the aquarium tonight, according to… the news…” Aziraphale trailed off, blinking as he finally saw Crowley and realized just why he had smelled squid ink. It was not, in point of fact, ramen take-away.

For his part, Crowley was obviously at the end of his wits and had had a rather rough go of it from the looks of things. His handsomely pomaded hairdo was an utter disaster and most assuredly not in that rakish, cultivated way Crowley generally excelled at, but rather a genuine disaster. The bow-tie he had carefully tied just for Aziraphale was not only cock-eyed but also turned halfway around on his neck like someone had perhaps grabbed and twisted it ‘round, and the matching pocket square was nowhere to be seen at all. Aziraphale was certain that, had the bespoke suit not been made of raw firmament, it would certainly have had rips and tears in it just judging by Crowley’s general air of bedragglement and the air of ‘I’m a forlorn lost puppy’ that seemed to hang over him like a little raincloud. And that wasn’t even taking into account that the demon was quite literally dripping in squid ink from the tips of his auburn hair to the snakeskin wingtips of his loafers. It actually put Aziraphale in mind of a children’s book that Warlock had been briefly fond of in which a stuffed bear doused himself in mud to disguise himself as a raincloud to steal honey from a beehive.

“Yeah, well,” Crowley huffed, clearly struggling even to string a decent snarky comeback together. “Maybe the squid was just a dick.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes momentarily and pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “I swear to Somebody… Anthony J Crowley, if that ink stains those floorboards you will be in far more trouble with me than you apparently were with that squid.”

The angel’s lips pursed and his stormy blue-grey eyes flashed but only for a moment before the utter ridiculousness of his partner overcame him and he shook his head with a chuckle. “Come on, up for a bath with you. You look like a bedraggled puppy,” he teased, snapping his fingers to take them both upstairs without tracking ink anywhere else.

* * *

Epilogue

“You did **not**!”

“Flung it right onto Lady Fucks-the-Help’s tits, I did so! **While** she was still fucking the help!” Crowley added with a downright demonic giggle.

Or it would’ve been had said demon not been surrounded by lavender-scented bubbles, leaning back against a baby-blue pillow, having his hair scrubbed by his angelic partner. Aziraphale was used to the paradox that was his demon, however, and simply shook his head with a loving smile as he gently scrubbed the squid ink from the auburn locks. Crowley continued regaling Aziraphale with the details of his evening while the angel pampered him, both enjoying the quiet bonding time until the demon was finally free of ink and both were dried and ready for bed.

“What’s this, Angel?” Crowley asked, pointing to the parchment envelope addressed to himself on the bed.

“Hmm? Oh, I say…” Aziraphale looked over at it curiously, brows knit in that adorable way that made Crowley want to kiss them until they unknit again. “I can’t say that I know, dearest. It’s addressed to you, though.”

Crowley slid one black-laquered fingernail under the wax seal and broke it smoothly. Almost immediately the envelope flipped open and Beelzebub’s voice droned out, causing both angel and demon to jump.

**“You zzurprizzed uzz onze again, Crowley. Az much az it painzz me to zay zo, you far exzeeded expectationzz tonight. You earned your pay and our Lord haz zeen fit to award you another commendation, azz well az a bonuzz. It’zz in your account. Tell the angel hiz propozzal iz aczeptable to Hell even if The Archangel Fucking Gabriel iz too much of a twat to aczept it outright for Heaven. We will contact you with jobzz if we have more for you, azz dizcuzzed.”**

When the demon Prince’s voice finished droning the letter burst into flame and was gone in an instant, leaving nothing but a few bits of ash behind to be brushed off the duvet. Aziraphale and Crowley blinked at one another for a few moments before both breaking out in matching grins, followed quickly by hysterical laughter.

“They sounded more angry that Gabriel wouldn’t accept your brilliant idea than they were about having to admit I did a good job!” Crowley howled with tears of mirth in his eyes.

“They called Gabriel a… a… TWAT!” Aziraphale hiccuped and fell off the side of the bed, causing them both to devolve into yet another round of uncontrollable giggling.

**Author's Note:**

> I took quite a few liberties with, well, several things really. I know there is no 'London Aquarium', or at least not by that specific name. The closest I found was the SEA LIFE London Aquarium, but I wasn't really basing my aquarium on a real place, just using some artistic license.
> 
> Yes, the children's book Aziraphale is referring to is Winnie the Pooh. It was one of my favorite's as a child and the one where Pooh tries to be a raincloud was too good of a comparison here to pass up.
> 
> Also the letter Beelz sends Crowley was heavily inspired by Howlers from the Harry Potter universe. I liked the idea and I felt like it fit the scene really well, so I ran with it. Fight me. ;)


End file.
